Come Together
by Bambu
Summary: In one catalytic moment, Hermione Granger realizes where her heart lies. (Written pre-HBP)


Come Together

By Bambu

Author's note and disclaimer: Long before HBP was released, I wrote this little piece. I was fascinated by the concept of pureblood fanaticism, and one day, I woke up with this confrontation in my mind. I hadn't a moment's peace until I sat down and wrote it. At that time, I had never written this particular ship before, having always considered HP/HG to be JKR's exclusive territory. However, this little story haunted me until I gave in.

As I'm now in the process of consolidating my HP fanfic, I thought it time to add this one to the collection.

None of the characters or the world are mine; I'm merely exploring a concept borrowing JKR's characters.

~o0o~

The day Harry and I became more than best friends was the day I had an epiphany. Strangely, my moment of clarity wasn't even about Harry. Not really.

It wasn't about how endearing his face looked in the morning when he came down to the Common Room with his hair mussed and his brilliant green eyes sleep-fogged. It wasn't that he'd finally begun to take his classes seriously – after years of nagging - absorbing magical knowledge like a sponge, soaking up bits of arcane and practical teaching, wringing the excess from his mind and retaining the most important information for our use and his survival. It wasn't that I suddenly noticed the way his body had lengthened, broadened and tightened into the frame of a slender man with wiry muscles and vibrant energy. And it wasn't that the light in the library cast a radiant glow to his narrow, handsome face as we would study with Ron, or that he would occasionally give me that heart-melting smile of his, the one reserved especially for me, the private smile that made my breath catch and my heart race.

Oddly enough, the turning point in our relationship was the day I realized Draco Malfoy was not merely my academic rival, but was truly my mortal enemy.

For seven long years, I had attempted to be the best witch I could possibly be. From the moment a barn owl flew into my parents' morning room, laden with a letter from Hogwarts, lurid green ink addressed to _Miss Hermione Jane Granger, Morning Room, Red House, Canterbury, Kent, _I had been wholly consumed with learning everything there was to know about magic. Generous to a fault, my parents had supported my rampant enthusiasm, and to the day of their deaths, never regretted their decision to let me enter the wizarding world.

In my first year, my early eagerness to spread whatever knowledge I gleaned in an exuberant attempt to share the wonders of this new world and to prove that I belonged at Hogwarts, coupled with my tendency toward bossiness left me relatively friendless. After Harry and Ron had saved me from that terrifying troll in the girls loo, I found friends… and later that same year, I discovered blind prejudice.

I was an idealist.

I somehow believed that if I could simply **be** the epitome of a good witch, then Malfoy and his pureblooded cronies would have to admit that Muggleborns weren't inferior. I had hoped that beyond the parties in Slytherin to celebrate my potential death, underneath the continuing taunts, sneers and shoves, that Malfoy – whom I knew to be more than passably intelligent – would use his brain and finally recognize what was so obviously in front of him.

I wasn't the only Muggleborn who achieved high marks at school. In fact, with three exceptions, the top twenty students at Hogwarts weren't pureblooded wizards and witches.

My hopes were dashed one gloriously beautiful day in mid-June of my seventh, and final, year.

Our NEWTs were behind us, and the only remaining academic requirement for the graduating class of 1998 was to complete and deliver our final year's projects for the classes we'd specialized in. Being an overachiever, I had tackled three Seventh Year Projects: Abstract Transfiguration, Elusive Charms and Modifying Potions. More truthfully, I wanted to find any advantage to contribute to Harry surviving his coming confrontation with the utterly mad Tom Riddle.

My cold dip into the ocean of reality happened in the corridor outside the Potions classroom. Malfoy was departing as I arrived carrying a furlough of parchment tightly scrolled into a thick tube of data and results relating to the successful culmination of my project.

I hadn't seen Malfoy in over a week. As he exited the classroom, a broad smile graced his mouth. His platinum hair was similar to his father's, and cascaded over his shoulders in a shiny spill of pale beauty that caused more than one witch to sigh with envy and desire to run their fingers through its silken strands. His grey eyes were sparkling with silver glints, their hue a barometer to his stormy and changeable nature. He was a beautiful man.

The smile that altered his features from the pointed, pinched face with which I was so familiar dropped immediately when he spotted me, returning him to the arrogant wizard I knew.

"Mudblood."

I couldn't help myself. "You mean Valedictorian, don't you?"

"You're nothing." He sneered with a curl of his lip, as if he'd just stepped in something that clung with malodorous tenacity to his dragon hide boot.

I opened my mouth before I could give it the second, more rational, thought.

"Draco Malfoy, you are the most infuriatingly trenchant wizard I've ever met. You're intelligent, prosperous, and hold a significant place in this society. Can't you look beyond the ridiculous prejudices you've clung to for the past seven years to see that I am not your enemy. That Muggleborns and Half-bloods are not your enemies. No one wants to **take** anything from you. We merely want to find our own places in this world."

Apparently, _anything_ I would have to say was fuel for his ire. It seemed that receiving top marks for his Seventh Year Project and graduating in the top five percent of our class wasn't enough.

_WHACK!_

Pain exploded in my face and flashes of light sparked in my vision. My cheek was struck with such force that my head hit the unforgiving stone of the dungeon's wall, scraping my other check on the roughened texture of the stone. I was completely unprepared for a physical assault, and had never been struck in the face before; certainly not by the noble scion of a pureblood wizarding family.

The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth and I choked out a half-scream, half-moan of pain. And then Malfoy was on me, shoving me against the wall with such force that the triumphant end-results of months' worth of hard work flew from my grasp, and my head _thudded_ against the hard stone behind me. Rough nodules of rock pressed painfully into my back.

Hours of DA training took over and I whipped my wrist, releasing my wand into my hand. Power answered power as I summoned my strength.

Another hard shove smacked my head against the stone hard enough to leave me dizzy and nauseated.

It was then I heard the words pouring from Malfoy's mouth. It was as if he had stored them for years, waiting for this opportunity.

"Jumped-up Mudblood bitch! Think you can come in here and show us something." Each panting phrase was punctuated with a shove. "You're an aberration, a mutant. It's time to cull the herd." My head ached with the continual, percussive jolts against the rock. "No pureblood wizard would ever taint themselves with the likes of you! You're nothing more than a freak of nature." His eyes were hard, an unyielding charcoal grey of anger and hate. "Training for years. Can't wait to show you your place—" his breath came in panting gasps between invective, "—in the ground. Filth!"

The stream of hatred continued, by I had stopped listening.

I was faced with the undeniable fact that his mind, that beautiful receptacle of intelligence and intuition, was stunted and shackled and would never change. In those few moments before I took action, my entire universe shifted its axis. I had held out hope that Malfoy might honestly look beyond the racist rhetoric he had been fed from the day he was born and think for himself.

It was a graphic lesson in futile, wishful thinking.

Then, in the last moment in which a Malfoy would ever touch me – even the final battle when he crumpled in a lifeless husk before my eyes - Draco backhanded me. My blood sprayed outward in an arc spattering against his pristine white linen shirt and across his face.

His reaction shocked me immobile.

Draco shrieked, backing away from me, clawing at his skin as if my blood was an acid eating away at his flesh.

I witnessed first-hand the corrosive effects of entrenched belief, and watched, fascinated, as the Malfoy heir ripped his now tainted clothing from his body: robes, tie, shirt.

In the background, I could hear shouting and shrieking, but I couldn't tear my eyes from Draco's actions. Frantically, he tore a piece of stain-free shirt, balling it up to scrub at his face in an attempt to erase any reminder of my taint.

His crazed actions frightened me, yet I remained mesmerized by the fact that he was essentially flaying his own skin in an effort to rid himself of my blood. I knew then he would let the Dark Mark take him, that it would consume him.

As I watched, my wand half-raised, hate curdled into a tangible, lethal thing in Draco's expression. He raised his wand in my direction. "Av—"

Before he completed the Dark curse that would end my life, dual spells hurtled down the corridor in jets of green and red, their aim straight and true.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Malfoy was flung across the corridor, his rigid body toppling to the floor, his wand clattering to the stones worn smooth by generations of magical students.

Severus Snape and Harry Potter had saved my life. My Muggleborn life.

I stared at Draco Malfoy. My throat was tight and I was unable to voice a single word.

Harry ran toward me from the other end of the hall, his expression naked and vulnerable. It probably matched mine.

Professor Snape was nearer, and he passed me to reach the fallen student of his House.

I had never seen him look so old. He moved as if he was hurt, but I'd seen him suffer the aftereffects of Cruciatus before and this wasn't it. No, this was something far worse.

The loss of an ideal is a terrible thing to witness.

Professor Snape had hoped to persuade Draco to a different path, and this confrontation had simply confirmed his growing fear that he'd failed. Worse still, he knew, as did we, that where Draco Malfoy led Slytherin would follow.

I wanted to hug the saturnine wizard, but I knew he wouldn't welcome my sympathy.

Instead, I let Harry wrap me in his arms.

I clung to him; I didn't want him to let go. Ever. I buried my face in his neck and let his familiar smell – broomstick oil overlaid with some indefinable scent that was uniquely Harry - soothe me.

We had been friends for so many years, and he had been increasingly protective of me since the attack at the Department of Mysteries. Yet, now his arms weren't holding me in a platonic, it's-all-between-buddies sort of way. No, this was in that possessive, caressing manner of a man who has been badly frightened by the potential loss of the woman he loves.

"Gods, Hermione… Oh, gods." Harry repeated that refrain while stroking my unruly hair.

I raised my head to look into his face, his tear-streaked face. My heart pounded, and it wasn't from adrenaline or residual fear.

The harsh voice of our Potions Professor and Occlumency tutor broke into our absorption with each other. "Potter, take Miss Granger to the infirmary. I will see to Mr. Malfoy."

For a long moment, Harry and Snape looked at each other. They had stopped being enemies at some point our sixth year, and had learned to respect one another. I have always had a value for Snape, if only because he had saved Harry's life on more than one occasion.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "C'mon, Hermione."

Harry led me out of the dungeons and away from my poorly illuminated, last illusion. I carefully stepped around the immobile body of Draco Malfoy, his blond hair fanned out in a white aureole around his head.

Harry paused before stepping over the prone form of his nemesis. I noticed the muscles in his jaw working as he controlled his desire to redress the Slytherin's offense. In one way or another, the losses and gains of a ten-minute confrontation would be felt for the rest of our lives.

Harry didn't say anything to me until we topped the final flight of stairs leading to Madam Pomfrey's domain. Then he turned toward me, his face angry and worried. "Why didn't you stop Malfoy, Hermione? You know how. We've been training for three bloody years!" His tone took on a slightly bewildered tone, as if the reality of what had just happened had finally sunk in. "He was going to kill you!"

I shuddered and spoke for the first time in fifteen minutes. "My God!" I exclaimed. "Is that what it feels like?"

Harry stared at me as if he couldn't understand a word I said.

My need to explain forced my words to trip over themselves as they rushed out of my mouth. "I've always stood by your side, Harry, and I always will. But it's a different thing to face some malignant creature who wants to kill your best friend, or who puts me on their 'most wanted' list because I'm your friend. Harry, Malfoy wanted to kill me. Me! Not just anyone who happened to have been born to Muggle parents. But he wanted to kill me. It was personal - and horrible."

I shuddered as the full weight of the encounter settled into my comprehension.

Instantly, Harry pulled me tightly to him. His head tilted so that his cheek pressed against my hair. One hand gently stroked the length of my hair as his other arm pulled me closer to him, as if his protection would banish the harsh reality facing us.

But I wasn't quite finished. "Oh, dear Lord, Harry. Malfoy was really going to kill me."

And then, suddenly I knew, absolutely **knew**, how Harry had felt all of these years. How it felt being the focal point of some mad wizard's lethal intentions. And I also knew that I would never let it happen. I would never relinquish Harry to Voldemort.

"I wouldn't let him, Hermione. He'll never come near you again." Harry's voice cracked rather endearingly on the last word, and he flushed.

And with that, my epiphany was complete.

Harry's reaction brought me the revelation of my greatest gift: his love. Harry loved me. But it was more. Harry was in love with me.

How could I have not noticed before? Had I been so afraid that he didn't feel for me what I did for him that I wouldn't take the risk? Perhaps I should thank Malfoy, because without the sudden and irrevocable realization that life can be extinguished in a minute… or ten, I'm not certain Harry and I would have come to our understanding so soon. Yet, acknowledgment of those feelings had been thrust in our faces by the unreasoning hatred of an enemy.

The look on Harry's face said it all. His green eyes shone like gemstones, the depth in their expression was above price. "Hermione, I…"

Sparkles of joy overrode any residual shock my system experienced, and I smiled crookedly at Harry, interrupting him because waiting another second before we grabbed our fate in our hands was a second too long. "Oh, Harry. You really do have a 'saving people' thing."

And before he could take offense, I leaned up and kissed him, split lip and all. He didn't seem to mind.

~o0o~

4/2005


End file.
